


What Does a Man Fight For?

by kishuku



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishuku/pseuds/kishuku
Summary: Nicky and Joe's first meeting and subsequent mutual kills. The years between their discovery of their immortality and meeting Andromache and Quyhn for the first time. Additionally, how Yusuf and Nicolo learn, or are forced, to let go of their pasts and accept leaning into their futures.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 60
Kudos: 1155





	What Does a Man Fight For?

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen the movie, so if there is anything that doesn't match the comic canon, I can only beg for forgiveness.

1096 Anatolia (modern day Turkey)

The weight of the body immobilized him, crushing into him into the earth as he died.

Yusuf could feel the heaviness of the man’s sword, which was buried in his gut. The pale invader above him coughed, struggling to suck a breathe past the gash Yusuf’s own blade had carved across his throat. His eyes bulged with the effort and oddly the thing that Yusuf noticed was how pale the man’s eyes were, light colored like the blue gray sky behind him.

Everything about these people paled in comparison to his. Their skin, hair, eyes, and promises were just pale hollow imitations of humanity.

There was panic in those pale sky eyes.

Good, Yusuf thought viciously. His own life was bleeding out underneath him, turning the torn dirt into mud. Someone slipped in it, accidentally kicking the man on top of Yusuf, jerking the sword around in Yusuf’s body. He moaned, the pain streaking through him white hot.

The man on top of him was also taking his time dying, short ugly gasps and bubbles occasionally bursting through the wound or on dying on his lips. The invader’s eyes bore into Yusuf as they died. Death was much slower than Yusuf had imagined. He thought a death in battle would be swift and brutal, not this agonizing bleed out where he felt every trickle of his enemy’s blood slide down his face, into his mouth, and down his neck.

Yusuf gave one last kick as he died, staring into the pale eyes of his enemy.

~~

There was a dream. There were two women. One fair skinned with ancient eyes and the other with hair black like Yusuf’s and an air of despair about her.

~~

Nicolo blinked, then air rushed into his lungs as if pushed in by the bellows of a blacksmith. He attempted to lurch to his feet, partially succeeding before toppling over backwards with a crash of armor, sword still clutched in his hand. Had he been….

He took another breathe. It was a miracle. He started to pray, then stopped as the body in front of him twitched.

His attacker was still alive.

Nicolo knew he had to be merciful. He staggered to his feet and drove his sword down through the man’s chest without looking too carefully at the man’s face, at his wounds. The dark bloody bundle made a weak scream.

The battle had moved past him while he’d been blacked out.

Nicolo yanked his sword up and began looking at the bodies surrounding him. Such carnage, was this what God wanted? The smell of blood and shit filled the air, somewhere off in the distance a dying horse screamed. The Muslim stronghold still stood before him, but screams and black smoke rose from inside. A younger son, Nicolo had been studying to be a priest when his father informed him there were no more funds for studying and that Nicolo would join the Crusades. His father had just enough money left to arm him and provide Nicolo with a horse. It was an honor to his family.

It would’ve been an honorable death.

He surveyed the area around him, hesitating. Should he attempt to join the main group of pilgrims or bury the dead first?

Suddenly a body crashed into him from behind and a sharp pain flared on his right side. Some surviving enemy was stabbing him through the gap in his armor just under his arm. Nicolo’s lung filled with blood and he coughed, spraying the ground in front of him bright red. His sword arm was useless as he spun around to see the dead man he’d stabbed on his feet, looking equal parts terrified and confused.

Nicolo crashed back to earth in a literal dead faint.

~~

Yusuf fingered the hole that the knight’s sword had sliced through his robes and touched perfect unblemished skin beneath. He had watched the man impale him in cold blood, staring at the blade jutting from his chest before darkness claimed him. But it seemed only minutes later Yusuf had woken up, again, and the dead invader was gloating over the slaughter before him.

They had both been left on the field with the dead. Night was coming and Yusuf wasn’t certain he could return like this.

Because there was definitely something wrong with him.

But first, there was something else he needed to take care of. He squatted down and sliced the leather straps holding the knight’s armor in place. Yusuf cut as many as the straps with his dagger that he could see and reach, hopefully when the man stood up, gravity would take care of the rest.

Sure enough, the pale monster coughed and vomited blood until he could breathe again and sat up. Yusuf held his blade to the man’s throat. A pale perfect throat the Yusuf had slashed open less than a few hours ago.

“No!” It was one of the few English words Yusuf knew.

The invader was still holding on his sword, his hand flexed. Yusuf’s eyes flickered back and forth between the man’s hand and his pale gaze.

The man jerked back, the chest piece of his armor sliding off suddenly at the motion. He scrambled to his feet, pieces of armor clanging as some of them came loose, a few dangled until he shook them off, still clutching his sword. The pale man was halfway out of his armor when he finally stood, gripping his sword with both hands and raising it threateningly.

Yusuf quickly scooped his scimitar up with his left hand, dagger gripped in his right hand. It wasn’t his ideal fighting arrangement, but he didn’t want to risk switching his dagger to his left hand in order to grab the longer blade with his right. They squared off again.

“By Allah, why won’t you stay dead?” Yusuf muttered.

The man said nothing as he eyed his opponent. Then he charged, swinging the broadsword up high as he yelled and chopped down at Yusuf.

Yusuf attempted to avoid the sword, hoping the invader would miss him and he’d have an opportunity to gut him. But the man had more dexterity than Yusuf had given him credit, changing the direction of the swing just enough to carve the blade into Yusuf’s side. The pain as the sword crunched through his ribs was unreal, yet Yusuf managed to lurch forward and bury his dagger into the man’s armorless torso and yanked up, slicing him open like a fish.

They collapsed. This time Yusuf partially on top of the pale invader.

They died staring into each other eyes with a confused helpless rage.

~~

Nicolo knew the man was still there. In the dark. He could hear him breathing when nothing else in this field of bodies was. The screaming from inside the walls had ceased, the fire had dipped down below the walls, and nothing human seemed to be moving anymore. It felt as though they were the only two living souls left in the world.

They’d killed each other over and over. Their clothes were in shreds and dark with blood. Nicolo felt dizzy. He wasn’t sure if it was from the killing, the lack of water and food, or the blood loss. Surely a man wasn’t meant to bleed so much in one day.

Then again a man wasn’t supposed to die so many times in one day.

There were other animals out there. Night time scavengers tearing and eating the bodies of the fallen, but the two of them were in the center of the carnage and needn’t worry about being attacked by animals. Nicolo just hoped the other man was also unwilling to attack him in the pitch blackness.

Not that it matter, Nicolo supposed.

And it wasn’t a miracle from God. Because it if was a miracle, a sign from the Heavens, why would the Holy Father also resurrect his enemy? His mind spun in circles while he listened to the man near him breathing, it was definitely more soothing to listen to then the sounds of wild animals dining on his fallen comrades.

If he couldn’t die, did he need to sleep?

Nicolo discovered that the answer was yes, when he awoke at false dawn. He was still clutching his sword, the blade still strong and unbroken despite repeated clashes with the enemy’s scimitar. The sky had lightened enough to see by, but the sun hadn’t yet shown her face yet. The stranger was gone, but Nicolo saw him soon enough. He had moved over a few feet until he had a clear space and he was digging at the earth with his hands.

Nicolo realized the man had cleared the bodies away just enough so that he could begin digging graves.

~~

The pale invader was still asleep, sitting slumped over, both hands clutched around his ridiculously giant sword as he slept. Yusuf wasn’t interested in attempting to kill him again. Dying hurt.

Yusuf had only just made a roughly man shaped indentation in the earth when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see the pale invader standing over him with his sword. Yusuf sighed, bracing for the pain. He wondered if his head would grow back if he were to be decapitated.

Instead the man drove his sword into the ground and began using it as a makeshift shovel to loosen the earth. Yusuf stared in shock for a long moment before he resumed scooping dirt away with his hands.

It took them nearly three days to bury the fallen. They would dig a large grave during the day, collect the nearby bodies, and then fill in the grave. They began using pieces of Nicolo’s greaves as shovels. The next day they would start with a new mass grave. Some of the bodies, or at least parts of bodies, were carried off by scavengers in the night. Yusuf said a prayer for those, there was only so much two men could do.

They collected a pile of weapons and supplies. They’d each striped a few dead men of their clothes to replace their own bloody rags, each man offering a different prayer and apology as they looted the dead. There was very little food, but some coins and the weapons could be sold for more coin. They’d built a small fire and started eating one of the dead horses, both of them not willing to venture into the burnt shell of a fortress filled with more dead than they could bury. A packet of dried dates had been a treasure and Yusuf was grateful for the palate cleanser after chewing on the tasteless unseasoned horse meat. The invader had looked at the dark shriveled fruit with suspicion and hadn’t asked for any. Yusuf didn’t offer.

~~

On the morning of the fourth day, Nicolo sat down and sorted the coins into equal halves. He picked out a few practical weapons he knew he could use, a few were so decorative it was surely the reason their owners had died. He was tired, perhaps he could return and become a monk. A lifetime spent way from killing and the smell of death in silence was incredibly attractive at the moment.

And he’d proved he could be silent. He and the stranger hadn’t spoken to each other since they’d stopped killing each other.

Nicolo looked up to see the stranger watching him. He gestured to the pile of coin and the remaining weapons, then stood and turned until he was facing west. He started walking.

~~

West. The man was walking west.

Yusuf stood and watched him, watched him until he disappeared from sight.

What should he do now? Find the invading pilgrims and their army? Return home? No, he knew his family did not want him to return, he was supposed to die fighting the invaders. It was the only thing he could do to honor his family. He didn’t belong anywhere and there was no one like him.

Except now there was.

Yusuf leaned down and scooped up the remaining coins, placing them into a pouch at his side. He had already chosen a new scimitar and dagger, he slipped the long dagger into a sheath strapped to his right calf and picked another one, shorter and better for eating, from the weapons pile.

He turned and faced west, putting the rising sun to his back and walked away from everything he’d ever known in his life.

~~

Nicolo didn’t realize he had a shadow until the third day after leaving the battlefield. He had simply walked west, ate as he walked when he was hungry, rested when he was tired, and only stopped when it was too dark to see. If he could reach Constantinople he could sell a few of the decorative weapons for more coin and perhaps hire on as a mercenary fighter to a trade caravan traveling west or if he was lucky find a ship at port to take him to Greece or perhaps Genova. He doubted he’d find any ship sailing that far that would be willing to take him on, but Genova was a port city. Nicolo reasoned that it was possible.

The third day he’d found a river. First he’d knelt down and drunk water until he choked and vomited. There wasn’t that much in his stomach anyway. Then he’d rinsed out his mouth and stripped off his clothes. Nicolo hadn’t bathed in months and he was still covered in his own filth and blood from when he and the stranger had attempted to kill each other.

Actually, they _had_ killed each other, Nicolo corrected himself. Many times.

Nicolo checked himself as he scrubbed at his skin with sand he picked up by the fistful from the shallows of the river. There was no scar on his neck, no marks on his torso where the stranger had gutted him, no sign Nicolo had been stabbed directly in the chest over his heart, and not even a hint that his thigh had been sliced open from hip to knee. Yet, the scar on his foot remained where he’d cut himself climbing rocks near the sea as a child.

He’d been trying to stand in the current one-legged while checking the scar on his foot when he tipped over and went under briefly. When Nicolo reemerged he heard the end of a smothered laugh.

He wasn’t alone.

Nicolo scrambled to bank and yanked the dagger out from under his pile of clothing.

The still nameless stranger from the battlefield stood up from where he’d been crouched, his motionlessness melting him into the surrounding foliage. He said something and gestured to the river. Nicolo watched carefully as the stranger moved to the river bank upstream of him and knelt down to drink, then filled a waterskin he had hanging at his side.

Both men watched each other intently as the stranger moved back up to sit on a fallen tree trunk. The stranger still hadn’t pulled out a weapon or made to attack Nicolo.

Nicolo suddenly felt a little silly. What was he afraid of? That the man would kill him? Again? It would be more of a shame for them to desecrate the clear water of the river.

He sheathed the dagger and dropped it back on top of his clothing. Nicolo stood up, his hands and knees covered in mud from his scramble up the riverbank. He carefully waded back into the swift moving current, briskly rubbing away the mud. He glanced at the stranger, who was still staring at him, Nicolo recognized that look. He knew that look from other boys at the school he’d studied at before joining the Crusades. It was a look of interest and he knew where it could lead.

~~

Yusuf was fascinated. The invader was pale everywhere and even paler underneath his clothing where the sun didn’t reach. He also began looking at the places on the man’s body where he’d stabbed or sliced him. Yusuf’s gaze lingered on the man’s thigh where he’d laid it open to the bone just a few days ago, blood gushing from the wound to the pace of the man’s pulse.

There were old scars across the man’s back, a few lash marks, but they were old judging from their dull color. If the pale invader would spend some time in the sun, the scars would probably fade away.

Yusuf knew he was attracted to men, had known for most of his youth. His grandfather told him it was also part of the curse of his birth. He knew some of the men he’d had dalliances with were married, or betrothed, and had felt some guilt at assisting them in betraying their wives and families. Dying in a holy war, slaughtering the people who had cursed him to this half-life, had seemed to be the honorable solution to all of his life’s problems.

And now even that had been taken away from him.

Then the pale invader gestured and looked at him with those equally pale eyes and said: “Ni-Ko-Lo,” and jabbed a finger into his own naked chest. “E tu?” He pointed at Yusuf’s chest.

Yusuf was stunned. He hesitated, but then said, “Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhhamad ibn Al-Kaysani.”

The pale invader stared at him, “Yu-Seef Eb—“

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhhamad ibn Al-Kaysani,” he repeated irritably.

“Yu-Seef Eebra—“

“Yusuf,” he jabbed a finger into his own chest in mimicry of the man’s earlier motion.

“Yu-Suf,” the man mouthed it silently to himself a few more times. “Nicolo,” he said again gesturing to himself.

“Ni-Kolo,” Yusuf dutifully repeated.

Nicolo smiled.

~~

It was a small victory. It was a small win to hear his own name roll from the stranger’s mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure why it felt like such a great success, but he reveled in it for the moment.

After he’d smiled at the man, Yusuf had snorted and disappeared back into the surrounding brush. Nicolo doubted he’d go too far, he wasn’t entirely sure why the man was following him. He would probably try to kill him again.

Nicolo wasn’t wrong.

Yusuf ambushed him after the sun had set and Nicolo’d fallen asleep with his back to a large rock. Yusuf stabbed him deep enough between the neck and shoulder Nicolo would’ve died if he hadn’t been…. Well, if he hadn’t been unable to. Nicolo had slashed wildly out at the darkness, connecting with some part of Yusuf.

In the morning when Nicolo glimpsed the man from a distance, Yusuf ruefully lifted the front edge of his desert cowl, then dragged a finger across the gash in the fabric that traveled from the bottom of one rib all the way to the opposing shoulder.

And it continued like this until Nicolo reached Constantinople, by then he was starving, exhausted, and spent the last of his coin on a hard dry crust of bread and a piece of goat’s cheese. He’d have to find some sort of work if he was going to be able to feed himself, let alone find a ship to take him back to Genova.

He found a caravan willing to hire him on as a fighter, at a lower rate because none of the other fighters vouched for him and he was an unknown element. The merchant was desperate, he just wanted enough guards to make his caravan appear to be too much trouble to attack. The weeks on the road were uncomfortable, but Nicolo had regular food and drink, eventually making friends with some of the other fighters and learning a bit of Turkish and Persian in between the boring guard work.

His shadow was always around somewhere, but he didn’t attack Nicolo during those weeks when he was surrounded by others.

Whenever Nicolo was done with caravan work, in between the travels when he counted and hoarded his coin that was when Yusuf could attack. Sometimes it would end with Nicolo dead, sometimes Yusuf, but more often than not it left the two of them exhausted and panting as their skin crawled back into place, hiding the raw pink flesh underneath, and the blood flowing back through its proper channels.

Soon. Nicolo hoped that he’d soon have enough coin to buy passage on a ship to Greece and leave this nightmare and his shadow behind.

They were in Alexandria when Yusuf ambushed him in an alley and slashed Nicolo open from hip to hip. Nicolo dropped to his knees, purple-gray guts pouring out of the gash, instinct making his hands grab at the hot slippery bits of his body. Then he was toppling forward into his own blood and the filth on the road.

~~

Yusuf watched as the man’s intestines slowly slithered back into the wide open gash. Nicolo twitched and moaned as he returned to his senses and rolled onto his side, his hands clenched at his sides in pain, unable to even help his body pull itself back together. He vomited, adding to the stench in the air and the mess in the alley. Nicolo mumbled something.

He tried again, “As-salamu alaykum.”

Yusuf stiffened. How dare this invader say those words after he…. After he…. After Yusuf had gutted him like a sheep for slaughter.

“Why would you say that to me?” Yusuf demanded.

The last bit of gray gut disappeared and Nicolo pushed himself up onto one elbow. “I learn for you,” he said in broken Turkish. He’d learned what he could of the language from other guards on caravans he’d worked on. Guard duty was mostly boring and involved a lot of waiting.

With that final shock Yusuf turned on his heel and left, stalking down the length of the alley until the shadows swallowed him. Nicolo watched him go, then picked himself up with a small smile and a grimace. He’d need to visit the public bathes after that fall and some time to patch the new tear in his shirt.

~~

They were back in Constantinople when Nicolo was surprised by a group of drunken bandits.

Yusuf followed the group into the alley as they stalked their prey. He’d killed two of the thieves before they even realized what was happening, the third thief had his side caved in by Nicolo’s ridiculously massive sword, but the last one had his long dagger buried in the Genovese’s side and was twisting it back and forth accompanied by Nicolo’s screams.

Yusuf smoothly decapitated the man then kicked the slumping body out of the way before it crushed Nicolo.

“The innkeeper’s son is selling out any patrons traveling alone,” Yusuf told Nicolo.

Nicolo slumped back against the wall, one hand gripping the hilt of the dagger still jammed between his ribs. “Now I know,” he yanked at the dagger, face going pale in pain as the weapon only slide a fraction of the way out. He muttered some impressive swear words in Turkish then looked at Yusuf pleadingly.

Giving the headless corpse another kick, Yusuf hesitated, but then stepped over the body and gripped the hilt.

Nicolo let his hand drop heavily to his side as he fixed his eyes on Yusuf’s face. “When I say three. One—Ahhhhhhh!”

Yusuf yanked, the blade scraping against bone as it came free and blood fountained out of the hole in Nicolo’s side. Yusuf grabbed the man’s shoulder, pushing him firmly back against the wall to keep him upright.

“Thank you,” Nicolo finally managed, straightening up and recovering his weight onto his own two feet. “I would’ve managed them. After a time.”

Yusuf snorted, “It offended me. Four men against one. Pah!” He spat on the dead man curled around Nicolo’s sword. Yusuf grabbed the blade and also yanked this weapon free, holding it out to Nicolo.

The Genovese’s eyebrows rose. It was the longest conversation he’d ever had with Yusuf since they’d met each other, then again it probably helped that Nicolo spoke Turkish now.

Yusuf was now leaning down over the bodies, riffling through their clothes and finding four separate coin pouches. He jingled them, “Spoils of war.”

“Indeed,” Nicolo wiped his sword on a clean corner of the headless corpse’s shirt.

“You should not stay at that inn,” Yusuf said abruptly.

“But I’ve already paid the night,” Nicolo protested.

“Did you want to be stabbed like that again? May this time in your sleep? It looked like a lot of fun,” Yusuf gestured to the bloody gash in Nicolo’s second best shirt.

Muttering curses in Italian, Nicolo started stomping his way back towards the inn. “I’m going to get my things first and I will make a _castrato_ of anyone who gets in my way.”

“Ka-stuh-ro?” Yusuf asked.

“I’ll cut off his balls and shove them down his throat,” Nicolo threw back over his shoulder.

“Oh,” Yusuf considered this as he followed Nicolo. “That’s a good threat. Not death, but it would be very uncomfortable.”

Within the hour Nicolo had barged into the inn, threatened the innkeeper and his son, and found himself standing on the streets of Constantinople with his bags and no idea where to go next. He could try his luck with a seedier inn closer to the docks, he was going to try to find a ship going to Genova or Venice or at least to Greece tomorrow.

“Nicolo.”

He jumped as Yusuf melted away from the shadows of a building, dipping his chin to indicate that Nicolo follow him. The Turk led him towards the port, but ducked into a doorway where he rapped gently on the wooden door. A woman with a much dark complexion than Yusuf opened the door, silently letting him and Nicolo inside. Yusuf murmured a few words in another dialect then motioned that Nicolo follow him upstairs.

“What language was that?” Nicolo asked. His native tongue was Italian, he also spoke French, read Latin, and after nearly 5 years back and forth between Constantinople and it’s various trading posts he spoke Turkish and a smattering of other languages.

“It is Arabic spoken by the Mawalis. We Kaysanites speak many languages and dialects,” Yusuf smirked as he pushed open an unlocked door at the end of the building. “Yet your people call us cultureless barbarians.”

Yusuf had a small cramped room with a pallet up against one side of the wall, a basin and pitcher of water was pushed into an empty corner. Nicolo looked at the space and set his bag next to the pitcher, then seated himself onto the floor next to the pallet with his sword across his lap. Yusuf took a seat on the pallet, folding himself gracefully down on it in a fluid well practiced motion.

The two men stared at each other, unsure what to do now.

“Thank you,” Nicolo managed after the silence became unbearable.

“You said that already,” Yusuf replied.

“I wasn’t sure,” Nicolo nervously ran his hand along the sheath in his lap.

“It offended me,” Yusuf paused. “It offended me that they tried to kill you.”

Nicolo’s lips curled up in a small smile, “You know that’s not possible.” It felt so freeing to say that to someone else.

“I know, but I want to be the one to kill you.”

Nicolo knew that, but his body still jolted at the stark emotion in those words. “Why?”

Yusuf’s teeth were bright and white in the light of the lantern he’d placed near the door after he’d come in behind Nicolo. “Because I hate you. You represent everything I hate in this world.” He leaned forward, one hand coming down on the sheath of the sword in Nicolo’s lap, pinning him to the floor.

“One of your people took my mother. Have you ever seen a Kaysanite with skin as light as mine? Women shamed the way my mother was shamed should’ve killed themselves, thrown themselves off a cliff or set themselves on fire. But my mother was my grandfather’s favorite child and I think he thought he could save her, but after I was born she became a ghost, hollow and empty as though she lacked a soul.” Yusuf put more of his weight on the sword. Nicolo’s legs were starting to go numb. “My grandfather raised me to be a fighter, my only goal in life has been to take revenge on the people who shamed my mother and murdered her soul.”

Nicolo leaned back, pressing himself against the wall of the small room. He’d followed a mad man back to his den, what had he been thinking? This man had killed him many times over the years and suddenly a single kind gesture was enough to turn his head. He was a fool.

“My only purpose in life has been to kill people like you,” Yusuf whispered into the space between them. “And I’ve failed at even that.”

Nicolo swallowed, the man was too close and too intensely focused. His body interpreted it as something it definitely wasn’t and he whispered, “Perhaps with new life comes new purpose.”

Yusuf’s dark eyes flickered down, Nicolo knew he couldn’t miss his body’s interest, just inches beyond Yusuf’s grip on the broadsword. Nicolo had a moment to wonder if his body parts would grow back before Yusuf pushed the blade forward, grinding the heavy sheathed weapon over Nicolo’s thighs until the knuckles of Yusuf’s hand rubbed down on Nicolo’s erection. Nicolo moaned and bucked his hips up against the contact, his thighs aching from the bruising force of Yusuf’s weight on the sword.

“I thought you Crusaders only loved God or women,” Yusuf murmured.

“It’s my cross to bear,” Nicolo ground out between clenched teeth as the sword dug into his hips, but he continued to seek as much friction as possible against those knuckles pressed to his cock. He left his own hands resting on the pommel and the end of the sheath, trying not to clench them into fists.

Yusuf gave a soft laugh, placing his other hand on the wall besides Nicolo’s head, caging the other man against the wall with his body. He slid the sword to the floor. A noise somewhere between a sigh of relief and a whimper of disappointment escaped Nicolo’s lips as the pressure on his aching hips and erection disappeared. It was soon replaced with the weight of a male body as Yusuf straddled Nicolo’s hips and rubbed their erections together.

Nicolo’s hands finally found their way to the waistband of his pants, pushing them down just enough to wrap his hand around his penis and pull it free. He winced as the rough material of Yusuf’s robes ground against the sensitive skin, he batted the offending material aside and managed to grasp the other man’s erection, bringing them back together.

“Here,” Nicolo grabbed the hand Yusuf wasn’t using to hold his weight against the wall and wrapped it around their erections, creating a cage of flesh and bone. A groan rattled up through Nicolo that started in his feet but echoed and amplified in his chest as he felt the other man’s hardness pressed against him encased in soft silken skin. They both rocked and rubbed helplessly together until Nicolo came, the sudden wetness in both their hands dragging the first noise from the man as Yusuf thrust a few more times and followed suit, jerking and groaning into their entwined grip. They panted into the small space their bodies made, the world momentarily withheld, barred and beyond them.

And then Yusuf dropped his mouth to Nicolo’s, tongue pressing inside, hungry and desperate. After a while, the Kaysanite drew back a little, his mouth gentling. Nicolo pressed up, reveling in the contrast of soft lips and the scrape of a rough beard against his face. Tomorrow he’d wonder what demon had possessed him to be so foolhardy with a man who’d murdered him more than a dozen times, but for the moment he let the past slip from him.

Eventually Yusuf raised his head and without looking into Nicolo’s eyes, scrubbed his hand against his robes and rose shakily to his feet. A few steps brought him to the thin pallet on the floor where he dropped down and rolled away from the other man without a word. Nicolo was left to tuck himself away, wipe his hand on what used to be his second best shirt, and stare at the dark mop of hair across the room until the oil in the lantern ran out and the flame flickered and left them alone in the darkness.

~~

After that night, a strange tenuous truce seemed to exist between them. Nicolo discovered that Yusuf had been earning small payments by helping a local potter decorate more expensive pieces he sold to caravan merchants to trade. Nicolo loitered around the city, spending nights with Yusuf in his tiny room, until the next ship for Venice left. The day before the ship departed, Yusuf sold one of his daggers and appeared at the docks with a small rucksack over one shoulder..

“You’ll have to learn some Italian before we reach Venice,” Nicolo told Yusuf after the first night aboard the cargo ship.

“I can barely speak now and you want me to learn a new language?” Yusuf demanded as he clutched the railing, tan complexion an unusual shade of green as the ship rocked in a motion the man had never experienced in his life. “I’ll die before we reach Venice.”

Nicolo laughed, enjoying the sea air away from the stifling air of the city and eager to be heading home finally. “Give it some time, the feeling will pass.”

“You are so happy it is unholy,” Yusuf muttered as stared at the waves below.

“I am. I’m going home.” Nicolo knew it would still take months to travel from Venice to Genova, possibly another year if conditions were poor, but he was going home.

~~

Yusuf gasped, dragging a long breath of fresh air into his starved lungs. He somehow managed to exhale without screaming in pain and rage. He clawed at the earth, pulling himself out of the shallow grave he’d forced himself to remain in until he thought the sun had set. Yusuf had suffocated and died a few times down there while waiting, forcing his limbs to remain still as his head spun and he passed out.

There was still a hint of light to the sky, the brief twilight before darkness set in.

Yusuf leaned back against a nearby tree and considered his options. Nicolo’s older brother had killed him, buried an ax in his chest and then dumped him into a shallow grave. Yusuf had no idea where Nicolo was.

All because Nicolo insisted on going to confession at his family’s church.

Yusuf stood up, patting off as much dirt as he could. He had no weapons, no money, and no idea where to find Nicolo.

Nicolo, the man who Yusuf had been unable to get enough of these past few months. He thought that once he’d had the Genovese a few times the urge, the attraction, would wear off. But after months at sea and more months traveling across land toward Genova and nights spent wrapped up in each other, the want hadn’t faded at all. After years of hunting and stalking the man, Yusuf had developed something of a sixth sense for the man’s presence and the awareness was like a constant pull of desire. Only now there was nothing. Nothing but the smell of blood and dirt.

So now what?

Yusuf tilted his head back and stared up at the stars as they appeared. The sky darkening until only moonlight and starlight was left.

And the faint glow of city lights to his left.

~~

Of course the only place to hold Nicolo was in the basement of the church, chained to the wall by his hands and feet. The local priest had performed multiple exorcisms on him, branded him with a red hot cross, and burned his feet in an attempt to ‘free’ him from his demonic possession. Nicolo had bowed his head and followed along with the prayers, sometimes being beaten for daring to mock the word of God. He murmured forgiveness for the priest and his own family. He silently begged God that Yusuf had escaped and for forgiveness from Yusuf.

Nicolo felt a dark black despair settle over his heart when he thought about how he’d never seen the man again. Yusuf wouldn’t die, but he wouldn’t come for him. Yusuf would leave him and forget him. It was for the best. Nicolo’s naivety had put him in these chains as securely as the town’s blacksmith had. The man had enjoyed it and the delight in the man’s eyes had made Nicolo gag. These were his people? These people who pretended to love his fellow man and follow His ways? His own family who left him here to be tortured?

His heart hurt. His soul hurt.

A faint glow from the staircase flickered across the wall. Nicolo shrunk in on himself, dragging his aching limbs as close to himself as possible. Why was the priest returning in the middle of the night?

“Nicolo?”

He sat up with a clatter of chains, “Yusuf?”

Then Yusuf was there, looking down at him in the circle of light from a short stub of a candle. He carried a pack on one shoulder, the hilt of his scimitar stuck up from behind his head and he carried Nicolo’s broadsword strapped to his hip. His dark eyes took in the chains, the dried smears of blood on Nicolo’s cheeks and over his chin, the stains on the prisoner robes, in the straw, and on the pavement stones. The fire from the candle seemed to leap into his eyes as his entire form filled with rage.

“We’re leaving,” Yusuf examined the chains, because he knew if he kept looking at Nicolo he would run up and out of the church to murder everyone man, woman, and child in this forsaken city. After a moment, he smirked and drew Nicolo’s sword. The chains holding Nicolo to the wall all ran through a single metal ring, mounted on a flat plate of metal that had been bolted to the wall.

Yusuf jammed the flat edge of the sword, near the hilt, between the plate and the wall. He gripped the hilt of the blade with both hands, scraping his knuckles bloody against the wall, shoved a foot against the wall and pulled. He leaned his weight back and pulled, the muscles rippling along his arms and across his chest, the tendons in his neck rising like mountain ridges as he strained. The bolts came out of the stone with a crack and the entire ring and plate crashed to the floor.

Yusuf sheathed the sword, picked up the entire mass of metal and slung it along with the chains over his shoulder. He pulled a long dagger from his right boot and folded Nicolo’s right hand around it. “You’ll have to defend us if someone comes,” he then pulled Nicolo’s left arm over his free shoulder and started dragging him towards the stairs.

Climbing the stairs seemed to take ages, Nicolo’s uncooperative limbs and the weight of the chains encumbering them every step. At the top of the stairs lay a bloody pile of priestly robes, Nicolo turned his face away and murmured a prayer.

No one came and outside in the tiny courtyard of the church stood a horse. Nicolo gave Yusuf a questioning look.

“I stole it,” Yusuf muttered. “I have never stolen anything in my life. Damn invader ruining my life and my honor.”

“I can’t,” Nicolo ground out between clenched teeth.

“Can’t ride a stolen horse? It’s easy,” Yusuf insisted.

It was brighter in the courtyard, the moonlight coating the world with a pale ghostly glimmer. Nicolo knew Yusuf would see what he hadn’t noticed down in the church basement.

“I can’t mount the horse,” Nicolo dropped the dagger and pushed Yusuf away. As soon as Nicolo’s feet had his own weight he dropped to his knees, the clanking of the chains loud in the still night air. Yusuf glanced around nervously.

“Why not?”

Nicolo sat down and stretched his legs out in front of him, gesturing. Yusuf crouched down to take a better look at the chains, his hiss of horror echoed through the courtyard and made the horse shuffle nervously.

The blacksmith had taken metal spikes and driven them through the tendons at the back of Nicolo’s heels, impaling each foot. The man had then welded the spikes to a cuff that encircled each ankle. The cuffs around his wrists also had a single spike driven from side to side through his wrists as though crucifying him. When the blacksmith had welded the spikes to the cuffs, the smell of Nicolo’s burning flesh and screams filled the basement room each time. The cuffs were bulky, too large and heavy, causing the spikes to slide back and forth in Nicolo’s flesh whenever he changed positions, his body unable to heal around the metal.

Yusuf suddenly gripped Nicolo’s face, “I won’t leave you here.” He whispered fiercely was he leaned their foreheads together.

“But I can’t ride and I can’t run. Yusuf, I can barely walk.” Nicolo should’ve stayed in the basement, he’d lost his freedom, but it was so much more bitter knowing his last moments of freedom would be to watch Yusuf abandon him.

“You can!” Yusuf leaned back on his heels and stared into Nicolo’s eyes. “I think I can get them off, but…. you’ll suffer.”

Nicolo paused then nodded. “Just do it.”

Yusuf drew the scimitar from his back and lifted Nicolo’s right foot. He waited until Nicolo had braced himself, his right forearm pressed to his teeth, then he sliced into the tendon and yanked the spike through the wound, pulling Nicolo’s foot free of the cuff in the same motion. Nicolo bit into his own arm and panted a silent scream through his nose. Before the first wound had even healed, Yusuf had repeated the action on his left ankle.

Nicolo’s wrists were worse. Yusuf sat down in the V of Nicolo’s legs, his back to Nicolo’s chest and pulled Nicolo’s arms around himself in a sick parody of a hug. The scimitar cut through the first bone just under the thumb, then Yusuf snapped the ulna with a quick motion and yanked Nicolo’s hand free of the cuff. Nicolo didn’t understand why he didn’t blackout from the pain, instead sinking his teeth into Yusuf’s shoulder. By the time Nicolo was free of the chains, they were both exhausted and covered in blood.

Ironically, the smell of the blood made it impossible for them to mount the horse. The poor animal’s eyes rolled wildly and she tossed her head frantically whenever Yusuf attempted to reach for the reins to untie her. Yusuf finally had to return to the dark interior of the church to find a bucket. Nicolo pointed out the communal pump in the corner of the yard and they’d rinsed off as best as they could. Yusuf pulled off his shirt and dunked it in the remaining bloody water, trying to clean it as much as he could. He then went to pull the saddle bags off the horse without spooking her too much. He unpacked a pair of boots and a change of clothing for Nicolo. There was only one cloak in the pack. Nicolo wasn’t able to manage the belt, his hands still too numb and shaky.

Wet and cold, but no longer reeking of blood, they mounted the horse and rode north. Nicolo pressed forward against Yusuf’s warm back and shivered in his damp clothing, wet hair still plastered to his skull and dripping down his neck.

“Who was it?” Yusuf asked after they reached the city walls. He’d tossed a jingling pouch of coins to the guard who challenged them at the gates, the man hefted the bag, then opened the gate just enough for them to pass through.

Nicolo shook his head, the hood of their only cloak drooping forward, covering his face in darkness and tickling the back of Yusuf’s neck. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” Yusuf insisted, dark eyes flashing with a cold rage. “Look what he made me do,” he reached down to where Nicolo’s hands were wrapped around his waist, he lifted each hand and gently kissed each wrist. Nicolo couldn’t see Yusuf’s expression, since he was mounted behind him, but he felt dry lips pressed to each wrist, one at a time. They were perfect again, healed without a hint of damage, but Yusuf could still feel the snap of bone between his hands and hear Nicolo’s silent scream and the tickle of blood as it ran down his shoulder from Nicolo’s teeth. “Nicolo, let me burn it down to the ground.”

“No,” Nicolo withdrew his hands, tucking them against his chest between their bodies. “You’ll burn down the whole city if you start setting fires. There are innocents here who don’t deserve that. I just want to leave.”

Yusuf sighed, “Then let’s leave this hell.” He nudged the horse for her pick up the pace.

Nicolo nodded, a lump in his throat. He was leaving his home and his family for the last time, there was no hope of returning anymore to his past.

But as he leaned forward against the man before him he thought he might yet have a future.

~~

They kept moving until they ran out of coin. They’d slept rough, wrapped in the single cloak and in each other, not willing to spend their precious money on lodging. Later they’d sold the horse and kept walking west, further west than either of them had ever traveled. The landscape around them changed, shallow rolling green hills dotted with farms and orchards, a few burnt out buildings here and there said this part of the world had seen its share of war. The language changed as well. Nicolo had studied French as a child, but he struggled with the local accent, different than what his family’s tutor had taught them.

Yusuf learned French just as quickly as he had Italian, Nicolo noted jealousy. He had an artist’s soul, humming while he illustrated a page of vellum. Nicolo smiled at the irony of it, a Muslim laboriously illustrating and coloring pages for a rich lord’s Bible. He was soft spoken and gentle. After Genova, even though there was no evidence on his body that single day and night in the basement of the church had left scars on his mind. Nicolo began having nightmares. He stopped sleeping, at least he tried to. One night, after being awoken by Nicolo’s thrashing, in his gentle voice, Yusuf told him a legend about a cursed prince, a silent princess, and a talking nightingale. He used a stick and sketched out in the dirt the faces of a young man, a young woman hidden behind veils, and a bird. Nicolo found himself drifting off to sleep, his mind filled with clever princes and princesses, magical dervishes, and talking animals. Yusuf had been full of stories and Nicolo had drifted off most nights to sound of his gentle voice.

“What are you smiling about?” Yusuf asked, pausing in his work. “Have I put ink in my beard again?”

“No, I just—“ Nicolo gestured towards Yusuf’s work space, closed the door behind him, and placed their daily bread and cheese on a corner of the table. “I just find it ironic you are working so hard on a Catholic Bible.”

When Yusuf had gone around offering his designs for pottery, one of the merchants had pointed him to a monastery searching for an illustrator. After his skill had been deemed sufficient, Yusuf started work. After months of working at the monastery, the brothers trusted him sufficiently to allow him to take a few pages of vellum and ink back to their cramped quarters to work on. Nicolo found work unloading wares for merchants during the false dawn, before the sun had even risen, at the market. He would return there later, before dark, to help some of them pack and reload the unsold items. In the afternoons he was able to return to their room and watch Yusuf work.

Yusuf looked down at his work and shrugged, “It is art and the detailed work is challenging. And of course, it pays.”

“How long before you finish?” Nicolo asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed they shared. There was only a single chair in the room and Yusuf needed it to work.

Yusuf stretched, “A few more days? I am only illustrating it, the monks will do the script work.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did you want to go with me to present it to them?”

Nicolo shook his head. Another scar in his mind was that he hadn’t been able to walk into a church or monastery or any other building that towered above its neighbors. He hadn’t had an opportunity to waltz into a palace, but he imagined he wouldn’t have been able to approach the building’s shadow, let alone cross the threshold. Church bells also made him tense up with an unknown terror and panic, the sound thrusting him back into the dark where he could remember the bells tolling above him when he’d been chained beneath all that stone and metal.

He changed the subject, “Did you dream of the women last night?”

Yusuf nodded, “You know I did. If you dream of them, so do I.”

“They’re closer.”

Yusuf nodded again. The four of them had been dreaming of each other, not every night, but often enough ever since their first deaths. When he and Nicolo had fled into southern France they knew the women were…. closer. How they knew they weren’t sure. Since they’d stopped in this town, so that Yusuf could work on the Bible, they could feel that the women were still moving towards them. The question was: Did they want to be found?

“We have a few days yet before we have to decide. You don’t expect me to not be paid for all this work, do you?” Yusuf waved a hand at the drying pages on the table. “It could mean soft beds when we travel, mayhap for a year. I am too old to be sleeping on the dirt always.”

Nicolo smiled. “You are a young man.”

Yusuf laughed, “I will be 65 this year.”

Nicolo blinked. He was surprised that he hadn’t known that, “You are younger than me.”

“By how much?”

Nicolo held up three fingers.

Yusuf shrugged, “Pah, just three years. We’re practically the same age.”

Nicolo suddenly fell into a quiet seriousness, “Yes, we are the same.” They were both alone and unmoored in this world with no place to call their own. He was no longer Nicolo de Genova. He had been a son, a brother, a student, and then a Crusader. Nicolo had always had a purpose in life, even if that purpose had been to die. He’d forgiven his family and told himself he’d leave his past behind, but he hadn’t really grieved the loss yet. The grief hit him the way the sound of the church bells did, sudden and without warning.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf was there, sliding into the space on the bed between Nicolo’s body and the wall. “Nicolo, where have you gone? Come back.” He cupped Nicolo’s cheek in a hand with ink-stained fingers and turned his face towards himself. Nicolo closed his eyes. “Nicolo, come back to me.”

_To me._

Nicolo held his eyes shut and shook his head, struggling with himself, a storm of emotions whipping around himself. He had to control—

“Nicolo.”

Finally, Nicolo opened his eyes and let Yusuf see. Grief for things lost, desperate hunger, aching need, and a raw yank toward each other. Days and nights side by side, Yusuf’s constant attention, his soft voice, his gentle physical touch, and how he curled his body around Nicolo at night, not demanding or even asking for the intimacy Nicolo hadn’t been able to give since they’d left Genova.

Nicolo grabbed him, both hands wrapping around Yusuf’s face, and pulled him the last few inches until their lips met. Nicolo’s lips were chapped but Yusuf’s were soft and tasted faintly of fruit.

 _He must’ve eaten the plums we bought yesterday,_ Nicolo thought as he surged up against Yusuf.

Then he was kissing Yusuf, working his mouth over his as though he was trying to steal life from the other man’s very breathe or as though Nicolo were trying to take and bury a piece of Yusuf deep within himself. He felt as though he were trying to merge them together, to borrow Yusuf’s soft strength to hold his nightmares at bay, to push the very world away from them.

Yusuf wrapped both his arms around Nicolo, all the way around, encircling him and pulling Nicolo against his body. He leaned back against the wall behind him, tugging Nicolo into his lap without breaking contact with his mouth as they devoured each other.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you like that since….” Yusuf trailed off, addled mind unable to come up with an adequate response.

“Since you stopped wanting to kill me?” Nicolo teased. He nuzzled down Yusuf’s jaw, mouthing along the short trim beard, enjoying the rough contrast against his lips.

“No, I wanted to kiss you even then. Sometimes when I killed you I wanted to kiss away the drops of blood on your lips until you returned to me.” Yusuf confessed as he snuck his hands under Nicolo’s shirt and rubbed the palms of his hands up his back.

Nicolo groaned at the idea of dying and coming back to life with Yusuf’s lips on his mouth, “Can we?” He bucked his hips, rubbing his erection against Yusuf’s abdomen. “It’s been so long.”

Yusuf nodded, one hand coming around to slipping into Nicolo’s pants to grasp his erection in a familiar grip. Nicolo moaned and thrust into his hand a few times, then he pulled back, “Not like this. I want to see you. I’ve never seen you before.”

Yusuf stared at him, “You see me, Nicolo. You see me more clearly than anyone I’ve ever met. You knew I’d never leave you alone even before I knew,” he pushed Nicolo’s shirt up and over his head. He then pulled his own up over his head and tossed it onto the floor, “You saw how to break past my pride and my hatred. I did not know I could live without my hate. You showed me I could.”

Nicolo rolled back onto the bed to pull his trousers off, kicking them to the floor. Yusuf’s remaining clothing joined the pile on the floor as he moved after Nicolo and covered his pale body with his own. He rubbed their erections together and leaned down to swallow Nicolo’s gasp as it escaped his mouth. Yusuf’s mouth ghosted down over his throat, his collarbone, he gently bit the rounded curve of Nicolo’s pec, and he licked one nipple before giving it a hard suck.

“No, not like this,” Nicolo said even as he bucked up against his lover.

Yusuf stopped moving, “Should I suck you?”

“Fuck me,” Nicolo said, without hesitation, but it made Yusuf pause.

“Have you ever been--?” Yusuf trailed off. For all their months together, on the road and in bed, they’d never done that. They’d never discussed it and Nicolo had never brought it up, Yusuf wasn’t even sure if the other man even knew about it.

“Yes. No,” Nicolo blushed. “There was a woman. In Alexandria. She said…. She guaranteed me that she would help me enjoy myself. She used her fingers and….” He suddenly fixed Yusuf with a determined stare. “I’ve heard that it can be even better with a man.”

Yusuf grinned, a smile full of teeth and promises, “Oh yes, it can be much better.”

Nicolo nodded, “I want that. With you.”

“Then we do it my way. Lie back. Let me make you feel good. Let me suck you,” Yusuf murmured, settling himself between Nicolo’s thighs.

Nicolo raised himself up on his elbows, so he could watch as Yusuf closed his mouth over his cock. He gave a loud gasp, it was familiar but it had been so long since…. Yusuf worked his shaft with his tongue and lips, then Nicolo felt knowing fingertips fondling his balls. Watching Yusuf’s dark head move as the man pleasured him with such care, Nicolo felt something like, maybe gratitude, though it was bigger than that. He didn’t dwell on it, he simply wasn’t able to. The sensations in his cock and balls was far too consuming for him to hold a single thought terribly long.

Then Yusuf lifted his head, Nicolo made a soft noise of protest at the loss of the soft wet interior of the man’s mouth, but his voice fled at the glittering look in Yusuf’s eyes. Yusuf slid his index and middle finger into his own mouth, wetting them thoroughly.

“You’re beautiful,” Yusuf whispered before bending back down, his mouth once more swallowing Nicolo’s cock, his fingers exploring the entrance to Nicolo’s body. He pressed a spit-slick finger firmly against Nicolo’s anus, drawing another gasp out of Nicolo, as he entered. Yusuf’s finger was thick and invasive, but trapped between his hand and his mouth Nicolo had nowhere to escape to, nor did he want to, he wanted to be here in this moment with this man. Yusuf rocked his hand a few times and then—There!

That pleasure he’d only felt once before in his life flashed across his senses. Yusuf’s fingers withdrew and then pressed back in again, this time thicker—two fingers? He rocked his hand gently and then, there it was again, that electric pleasure that crackled over all his senses and seemed to crash over his skin and straight to his cock. Again and again Yusuf’s clever fingers danced over that spot deep inside him until Nicolo was whimpering and pleading in French, Italian, Turkish, until he lost all language and was just making soft desperate noises.

Yusuf raised his head again, gently withdrawing his fingers before Nicolo orgasmed. “Wait,” he put a foot on the floor next to the bed and stretched a long arm over to the table. It was how small the room was that he could still reach the table without leaving the bed. Yusuf snagged a small glass bottle with a cork from the table, then levered himself back on the bed completely.

Nicolo raised an eyebrow in question, too exhausted and nerves still singing too loud with lust to even vocalize his thoughts.

“It’s oil, to help rub out mistakes on the vellum.” Yusuf explained as he uncorked the bottle, “But I don’t make mistakes.” He dribbled some of it over Nicolo’s cock and balls, then corked it again and placed it carefully on the floor next to the wall. “It’ll make it easier.”

Yusuf grasped Nicolo’s cock and stroked it, the oil making everything slick and smooth. Nicolo moaned.

“See, easier. It’ll feel that way for me too, when I’m inside you.” Yusuf murmured as he leaned down and kissed Nicolo again. His hand moved lower and rubbed the oil into Nicolo’s anus, he pushed one finger in and out but not deep enough to touch that spot. Nicolo squirmed, wanting that sensation again. Yusuf reached down with his oil-slick hand and stroked himself a few times, closing his eyes against the easy pleasure.

Yusuf moved back and used his other hand to push Nicolo’s knee up and folded it between their chests, “Hold my arms.”

Obediently, Nicolo wrapped a hand around each of Yusuf’s biceps.

Yusuf lined himself up with Nicolo’s hole and pushed. Nicolo felt himself stretching around the blunt head of the man’s cock, the stretch a little painful and the sensation foreign. The pain became an ache and even that eased quickly, now Nicolo just felt full in a way he’d never experienced before. Yusuf was still moving, slowly rocking his way into Nicolo’s body, but his eyes were intensely focused on his lover’s face. Nicolo was certain that his emotions were flittering across his face, faster than he could process. Then Yusuf stopped.

Nicolo felt the push of Yusuf’s hips against his thighs and buttocks, which meant he was fully seated inside him.

“You feel amazing,” Yusuf murmured, dropping his forehead to rest against Nicolo’s. Yusuf lifted up enough to flutter a few kisses against his eyes, “I never thought—“ He broke off. “How do you feel?”

“Strange,” Nicolo tilted his head up for more kisses. Yusuf obliged him. “But it doesn’t feel better yet,” he teased.

“Oh, better? Better than a woman? I can show you better,” Yusuf smiled wolfishly as he carefully eased out of Nicolo’s body, then pushed back in. He reached down for Nicolo’s cock, still very interested in the proceedings and found a rhythm of pulling on the hard flesh while pushing himself deep inside.

After a dozen of those careful jabs of his hips, Yusuf thrust, and struck that spot inside Nicolo that brought a jolt of searing pleasure. The sensation was so intensive it made Nicolo gasp and flex his hands, clutching desperately to Yusuf’s arms.

“Better?” Yusuf smirked.

Then he was drawing out and pushing back in, stabbing that spot again and again with the accuracy he demonstrated in a swordfight. Nicolo twisted and squirmed, moans falling uncontrollably from his lips as pleasure sang through his body, from within him and from where Yusuf’s hand gripped his cock. Nicolo arched his back and pushed against Yusuf when Yusuf pressed in. He rocked his hips in time with Yusuf’s thrusts.

Yusuf gasped and murmured a curse, burying his face against Nicolo’s neck as his hips continued their steady pace. He mapped kisses on the skin from Nicolo’s ear to the beating pulse in his neck, he raked his teeth over Nicolo’s pulse, drawing a shudder and cry from the man pinned beneath him. Yusuf murmured his name as he drove himself into Nicolo’s willing body over and over.

Then Yusuf lifted himself enough to look down at Nicolo. He looked at Nicolo like he was something worth looking at. Like he was someone Yusuf wanted. And then, Nicolo’s body surrendered to the inevitable and he came, gasping, seed splattering on his belly in helpless pulses.

Yusuf released Nicolo’s cock and grabbed both his hips with his hands and thrust harder, his motions jerky and uncoordinated, as he emptied himself inside Nicolo with an unholy cry. He slumped forward onto Nicolo’s chest, panting together as their damp bodies cooled.

Eventually, Yusuf eased himself out of Nicolo and out of the bed. He grabbed a rag he used to clean his hands of ink while he worked and wet it from a pitcher. Yusuf then gently wiped Nicolo clean, gave himself a few perfunctory swipes, and dropped the rag back on the table. He crawled back into bed, wordlessly curling himself around Nicolo and slinging an arm over his middle.

They dozed.

~~

It actually took Yusuf another week to finish detailing the vellum pages, but one day he returned from the monastery and triumphantly jingled a bag of coins at Nicolo. He then leaned forward and kissed Nicolo, long and lingering.

“I am a rich man!” Yusuf laughed after they broke apart, “And in my generosity I have brought a gift!” He shoved a small basket into Nicolo’s hands.

Nicolo smiled, Yusuf’s enthusiasm was contagious, and dropped to the edge of the bed with the basket in his lap. Wrapped in a cloth and waxpaper were warm noodles coated in a light green paste.

“Agliata!” Nicolo leaned over the basket and inhaled the familiar smell of garlic, cheese, herbs, walnuts, and a faint hint of vinegar. “Where did you find it?”

“I know someone who knows a woman who says her grandmother came from Genova,” Yusuf smiled. “Do you like it?”

“I haven’t even tasted it yet! What is it for?”

“To celebrate,” Yusuf said evasively.

Nicolo lifted an eyebrow at him, “The day we met?”

Yusuf shrugged.

Nicolo smiled, “Then I have something for you too.” He pulled a small pouch from his bag and tossed it to Yusuf. “The merchant reassured me these are sweetest finest dates on the market. If they are not exquisite, I will find him and cut out his lying tongue.”

Yusuf sat down on the edge of Nicolo’s bed, shoulder to shoulder and they shared the meal. 

“It’s good, but it doesn’t taste like my mother’s.” Nicolo said as he finished the last of the noodles. “Someday we can go to Genova and you can taste it for yourself.”

Yusuf smiled sadly, it was a slip Nicolo often made, forgetting in the moment.

“What do you think of the dates? Does the merchant keep his tongue?”Nicolo asked, changing the subject.

Yusuf held one of the fruits up to Nicolo, “All merchants are liars, but I think this one can keep his tongue for now. These are good.”

Nicolo took the offered date and popped it into his mouth, “Are they as good as the ones from your home?” he asked as he chewed.

Nicolo was forever poking and prodding for information about Yusuf’s past or his family. As often as the Genovese talked about his family and home, Yusuf was tight lipped, only dropping information accidentally, other than that first time. Nicolo had heard him mention his mother and he knew there was grandfather who had helped raise him, not a very warm and nurturing individual from what Nicolo could tell. Yusuf had never mentioned siblings or a father or a wife and children of his own.

“You know, I don’t think I remember what the dates from back home taste like anymore,” Yusuf mused after a moment.

“Some things you never forget,” Nicolo said.

“Some things are better forgotten,” Yusuf shot back.”But sometimes you can’t.” His gaze dropped down from Nicolo’s face, raking over his body, before rising back up to his face. “That day at the river, I think I knew then.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew that you and I were destined for one another,” Yusuf leaned forward, capturing Nicolo’s mouth again, sucking the man’s bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly.

Nicolo leaned into the kiss, tasting dates and salty vinegar on Yusuf’s lips, and after a few moments when they separated, he asked, “I remember the river, but you still killed me a few times after that,” he protested.

Yusuf shrugged, “I didn’t claim to be a smart man. Destiny spoke to me and I attempted to ignore her, it only adds to my shame.” He moved the empty basket to the table, as well as the pouch with its remaining dates. “But I’m very obedient now,” as he drew Nicolo into his embrace and into his kisses.

They kissed leisurely for several minutes, hands roving over each other, then Yusuf palmed Nicolo through his pants. Nicolo groaned, arching into his knowing hand.

“I—I’m supposed to be—ugh—The market’s closing soon,” Nicolo said, rolling his hips up into Yusuf’s hand. He should be at market close to assist the merchants in loading up their wares and purchases.

“I’ll be quick,” Yusuf promised, sliding off the bed to kneel between Nicolo’s legs. He jerked down Nicolo’s pants enough for his erection to spring free, then he grabbed his hips and yanked the man to the edge of the bed. In a single motion, Yusuf dropped his head and sucked Nicolo’s cock down, rolling his lips down over the shaft and bobbing up.

Nicolo couldn’t stop the yell that burst from his lips. One hand shot down into Yusuf’s curls, gripping a tight handful, the other bunched into a fist in the bedcovers. Yusuf’s hands were iron bands on Nicolo’s thighs, holding him pinned down to the bed when his hips bucked wildly, seeking the hot heat of Yusuf’s mouth when he pulled back. But Yusuf returned every time, sucking and worshipping the flesh inside his mouth, until Nicolo’s climax burst from him. Yusuf swallowed, sealing his lips around Nicolo’s flesh as he collapsed back onto the bed and shivered through it.

Yusuf released one of Nicolo’s thighs and reach down for his own erection, stroking and groaning as he leaned his forehead against Nicolo’s thigh. It only took a few strokes before he was spilling over his hand, errant drops splattering and dripping onto the floor.

He stood up and grabbed the well used rag to wipe his hand on.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the market,” Yusuf held out a hand to Nicolo.

“You may have to carry me,” he mumbled as he shoved himself up onto one elbow and took the offered hand. “I don’t think my legs work anymore.”

Yusuf yanked him to his feet and laughed.

Nicolo didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing this man laugh.

~~

They didn’t make it to the market.

They almost did, but then Nicolo glanced across the street and saw a dream in the flesh.

Two women stood on the other side of the street, bundled in cloaks and dressed for travel, packs slung over their shoulders. They were dusty from the road and one was leading a horse with more saddle bags, a massive ax hung from the saddle.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whispered.

The Kaysanite turned and saw the two at the same time the women noticed Nicolo and Yusuf. For a long second the four of them stood on either side of the street and stared at one another while traffic continued to move between them.

Suddenly the pale woman darted across the street, alone, and whispered to Nicolo, “Is there somewhere we can go?”

Yusuf flicked a glance at Nicolo, his hand already gripped around the hilt of his scimitar.

Nicolo paused, then nodded.

Yusuf lowered his hand and the woman looked back, signaling her companion to cross over.

~~

The plaza to the west of the market was mostly empty, the water pump the only thing that attracted people to the area. This late in the evening most people were closing shop and hurrying home. They were still inside the city walls surrounded by people, but in a clear area where no one could overhear them without being noticed.

“One condition,” Yusuf said, after Andromache asked him and Nicolo to join them.

The pale woman, Andromache, raised an eyebrow at him in question, “Are you in a position to make demands?”

Yusuf gave a one shouldered shrug, “There are two of us and two of you. It would be bloody. Just listen to me,” he waited until she nodded. “Nicolo and I don’t separate. Ever.”

Quynh, the raven haired woman from their dreams, who had been mostly quiet during the exchange, glanced back and forth between the two men, “Oh.”

Andromache pretended to consider it for a moment, “Done.” She wasn’t planning on separating these two, ever. “We’ll meet here before dawn. We have a long distance to travel tomorrow.”

“That seemed too easy,” Nicolo whispered to Yusuf, but not quietly enough.

“Nothing will ever be easy again,” Andromache said as she walked back to Quynh and their horse. “But I trust you and you will learn to trust me.”

Nicolo and Yusuf exchanged a quick look. “You trust us?” Nicolo asked.

Andromache took the reins of the horse from Quynh, giving her companion a quick pat on the shoulder, “Did you know ancient societies used to form armies made up of lovers? They did it because they understood that a man who fought for hate would fight a long time.

“But a man who fought for love? That man would fight to the death.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Art! Squee! Art! Leeizzy drew art based on this story! You should definitely check it out here!
> 
> [ Nicky and Joe Scene ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672237/chapters/64097209)


End file.
